Choking on Your Alibi
by SomeNavyRecruit
Summary: Would Russia be able to recognize that America had been handling the scarf, just from smell? Would the scent of America waft up into the huge commie's face with every inhale while he wore it? / Scarf-play after America manages to steal it


Woooo this was fun to write. Partly inspired by the latest chapter of my Vamp/Were fic, I'll Take the Blood, You Take the Flesh and also a comic I found where Russia caught America doing this. I always thought it was a hot concept soooooo X3 Please enjoy!

Warning: Masturbation and asphyxiation

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia of the song Mr. Brightside

**xXx**

Alfred slid the fabric through his hands, secure in the knowledge that he was safe and alone in his hotel room and Russia was probably tearing the conference room apart looking for this thing. He didn't even know why he'd taken it, but the second the omnipresent scarf had parted ways from Russia's body and been left alone, _alone, _he just couldn't help himself.

He'd snatched it up like a petty criminal and gone running, ducking out of the room and pounding down the halls in the opposite direction Russia had taken, hoping to God no one said anything. Most nations had ducked out for an early lunch and America had no idea why he wasn't one of them but by God had it paid off. He didn't even know why Russia had taken it off but it was his now, _his_ and Russia wasn't getting it back any time soon.

Not until America's curiosity was sated at the very least.

"Mm." He sat down on his bed and kicked off his shoes, sitting up against the headboard while he stroked the soft, well-worn fabric. It was smooth and old, but knit so well he could tell it still served its purpose of conserving warmth.

The blond continued petting it for long moments, thinking about all the different times he'd ever seen Russia wear it. Which was every time he ever saw the other country, but still...that meant it was around his neck at every world meeting, wrapped snug when he was in the snow, draped loose but still present when it was hot and sunny, fluttering and unkempt while it rained.

Blue eyes slid from side to side, looking like a child about to do something they know they shouldn't. But how could he resist? The scarf had been on Russia through thick and thin for _year_s. It had probably soaked up so much of his smell it would be layered, like the rings in a tree that tell age or something. This scarf held Russia's history and it felt like it would be the key to any question he had about the nation and its avatar.

Quickly, before he could lose his nerve, he buried his face in the center of it and inhaled.

The assault to his nose was instantaneous, his head spinning from the sudden onslaught of vodka and sweat and musk and blood and so much more. America rubbed his face in it, eyes closed as he sniffed it again, trying to decipher every little nuance of the strong scent while unconsciously wanting to force his own into the mix.

Would Russia be able to recognize that America had been handling the scarf, just from smell? Would he wash it out as soon as he did? Would the scent of America waft up into the huge commie's face with every inhale while he wore it?

Halting in his insistent rubbing and stroking, America pulled away from the soft fabric and pursed his lips at it slightly. Along with the initial smell that almost any moron could have invented to describe Russia, there was a lingering undercurrent of snow and forests and something really...fresh. A lot of Russia's landscape wasn't habitable by humans so it made sense that he'd have a certain smell of wilderness about him. It complimented his own unique masculine smell well, too.

The blood was a secret delight for America; he'd deny it if ever brought to light, but he really was pretty violent, and the smell of blood mixed in with wilderness and the musk and sweat of Russia made his pulse quicken.

Really the worst thing he smelled on the scarf was the vodka and that was such an integral part of Russia that he didn't even care. It made him wonder what Russia himself must smell like. Was the scarf actually layered with time, or did the hulking Ruski really smell like winter and woods and blood?

Maybe he'd steal his coat next...

"Wonder how warm it is?" America asked himself softly, fingering the fringes lightly before carefully wrapping it around his neck the way Russia always did. It settled comfortably, the two ends so long they draped down close to his ankles.

It was pretty warm though and felt even softer against his neck. The smell of Russia came up to him moments after he'd put it on, making him tip his head forward faintly and inhale again. So good...so raw and so good...

America closed his eyes and just sat there, breathing deep and enjoying the rush that went through him with every sniff. It was slowly stiffening Florida, the organ beginning to press against the front of his pants and demand attention. He brought his hand down and rubbed it through his clothing, the other hand coming up to rub at the cloth, petting it while he pet himself between the legs.

"Ahh..." Popping the button with one hand, America quickly tugged his zipper down and pulled himself out of his underwear. He was already partially hard, gripping himself and stroking until he was fully swollen with arousal.

Moaning softly the blond superpower kept going, burying his nose into the scarf and inhaling deeply while he stroked himself faster. He rubbed his face in it and imagined Russia's face when he got it back, imagined what he'd look like if he found out what America had done while wearing it.

The friction against his face made him pause, cracking open one eye and looking at the long trail of extra scarf by his legs. He smirked into the soft fabric of the scarf, reaching for both ends of Russia's treasured clothing. He overlapped them and wrapped them around his cock, gripping again and beginning to stroke.

"Ahhhh yeah...fuck..." America moaned from the added stimulation, mind going haywire from all the thoughts that assaulted him as he began jerking off with Russia's scarf. The tugging to the material made it tighten around his neck without him noticing, too intent on what he was doing to feel it at first.

"R-russia...nngh..." America panted and stroked faster, breathing labored around the constriction of the scarf. He paused again as he realized he wasn't being light headed just from how turned on he was. He let up on the pressure before smirking again, lifting one hand to fist the scarf closer to his neck and tug it tight and to the side, cutting off his air supply. With the other he began stroking again, pumping his cock furiously while his other hand controlled the flow of air into his brain.

"Oh...fuck...mmmmmm..." America's hips began bucking as he stroked himself, his vision going hazy behind his glasses as his brain began to starve from the precious oxygen he held off with the scarf. His attention to what was going on around him dwindled down to nothing more than the pleasure, the feeling of it crawling all through his body in a way he'd never felt before.

The blond couldn't concentrate on anything beyond keeping his hand going, brain skipping around from trying to process the sensation overload to thinking about Russia and how strongly the scarf was going to smell like America when he was finished.

"Russia...Ivan...Ivan, fuck, Ivan...please, Ivan..." America babbled on and on into the folds of the scarf, wasting what little oxygen was getting through on his begging and moaning, whining his pleasure into the weathered material and stroking himself faster with it. Pre-cum dribbled out and stained the ends of the scarf, not daunting America in the least as he kept going.

America's back arched as the pleasure sky-rocketed up his spine, hand stroking himself at a feverish pace while he called out Russia's human name in a desperate mewl, choking off the sound half-way through by tugging strongly at the scarf around his neck. He was so close, so close, his entire body was composed of heaving lungs and star-bursts of pleasure, muscles trembling and drool sliding out the corner of his mouth as he moaned openly and shamelessly. Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, twinkling brightly while he called out for Ivan again and again.

"IVAN!" America's eyes clenched tight shut, tears trickling down the sides of his cheeks as he came with a bone-jarring force that shot cum all over the scarf around his cock and some of it that was draped across his stomach and chest, soiling the most of the cloth in one go. His head swam in euphoria as he shuddered and shook, body convulsing with his ecstasy and fingers cramping over the wadded up length of scarf he held, still restricting himself from oxygen throughout his orgasm.

He didn't give himself a real breath until he'd slumped against the bedding, twitching and jerking with left over pleasure, fingers slowly relaxing and letting the scarf lie limp around his neck and sticky along his body.

"You are owing me the dry cleaning bill for that, comrade." Russia's voice broke through America's hazy pleasure, making the American's blue eyes crack open and look to the doorway. The door was broken off its hinges and in pieces scattered all over the floor. The carnage only made him smile, feeling too good from his oxygen deprivation to really care.

"I'll pay the dry cleaning, you pay the hotel." He murmured, closing his eyes again. They fluttered open when he felt a heavy weight settle on the bed beside him, seeing that Russia had moved closer and sat on the bed. There was a tickling in the back of America's head that told him he should be concerned about that, but he couldn't find it in him to follow through with the thought.

"If you wanted me to hurt you, you only had to ask." Russia murmured, running a finger along tanned cheeks to catch the spilled tears. He sucked them off his index, humming from the salty flavor before smirking at the blond. "You sound lovely while you are suffocating."

"Nn." America closed his eyes again and took a deep breath, not moving and not caring that his dick was still out and wrapped in Russia's scarf. He liked it that way. "Jus' wanted you to remember me by."

"I will never forget this scene, comrade." Russia unwound his scarf from America's neck and softened cock, bundling it up carefully before taking a soft sniff of it, wondering how dirty it was. It was musky and smelled of sex...though not unpleasantly so as it brought up the image of the blond choking and crying and begging for him. "It smells like you, Amerika."

The blond smirked, his body still twitching even then. It had been so worth whatever Russia did to him when he recovered enough to fully comprehend his punishment.

**xXx**

Silly America, Russia's always going to assume it's you first and foremost. Also, screaming his name isn't very subtle.

Review if you enjoyed ;D


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